


Stabilizing Procedures

by runningondreams



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: (he has a cold), Domestic, Established Relationship, Infant Care, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Life, Mild Hurt/Comfort, sick infant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 09:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningondreams/pseuds/runningondreams
Summary: Every once in a while, Steve needs to wrangle his husbandandhis kid. Sometimes he even takes care of himself, too.





	Stabilizing Procedures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laireshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/gifts).



> Written for laireshi, who requested kidfic and dad!Tony as part of the 2018 fandom_stocking event. I hope you like it!
> 
> * * *

Max is usually a fairly quiet child. It had been a relief, if Steve’s honest with himself, when they first brought him home and he made the transition from strange new surroundings to sleeping through the night within a week. Steve might not need more than a few hours a night, but if Tony doesn’t get a good stretch at least five days out of six he gets irritable, and moody, and more likely to make rash decisions.

Steve tries not to mention it. It’s much more efficient to just lure Tony to bed and cuddle him long enough that he stays.

When the baby monitor lights up with Max’s wails for the third time in four hours, Steve indulges in a private moment of visualized retribution against parents who bring their contagious children to the park and let them interact with strangers. Which isn’t precisely fair, but neither is the fact that Max ended up sick after his very first trip to Central Park. Even if it was, in retrospect, a perfectly reasonable expectation.

Tony rolls over with a sigh and checks the clock.

“Thirty minutes this time,” he says. “Poor kid.”

“I’ll get up,” Steve volunteers. “You sleep.”

“No, No, I got it.” Tony’s already sitting up and shifting out of bed. “You’ve got that meeting. I think I’ll just stay up.”

“Tony--”

“It’s fine, I’ll be up anyway. You know I can’t sleep when I know he can’t.”

In the end, they both get up. Tony goes to the nursery and Steve heads to the kitchen to start warm drinks for all of them, in case Max proves to be hungry. He measures out formula and water and sets the bottle in a bowl of warm water. He fills a thermos with coffee for Tony and pours a mug for himself and takes everything out to the living room.

Tony is pacing back and forth in front of the windows with Max cradled against his chest. The various tools of helping-Max-feel-better are spread out on the coffee table: the spray bottle of saline solution and the bulb syringe for his nose and the little bottle of liquid children’s ibuprofen; a bottle of juice; a bottle of water. On the couch, Tony’s set down other things: Max’s favorite teething toy, the diaper kit, a pile of burping and clean-up rags, a little stuffed monkey-astronaut and a blanket printed with Steve’s shield.

Max is still crying, but softer now as Tony rubs his back and murmurs to him. The utter, hiccoughing misery on his little face is matched by the tired frustration in Tony’s own expression. 

“I wish we could do more for him,” Tony says as Steve sets down the thermos.

“Want me to take him?” Steve asks, holding up the bottle of formula.

“I got it,.” Tony grabs the bottle. His shoulders curl inward as he coaxes Max to takeit. 

Which is pretty much how things have been for two days now. Steve tries to help. Tries to step in and do at least half the work of their joint childcare, tries to give Tony an opportunity to get some _rest_. But Tony’s got that look in his eye, that same drive he gets over new technologies and world-saving plans, like his need to fix something is burning under his skin, and Steve can count on one hand the times he’s been allowed to so much as _hold_ Max since he started to sniffle and cough.

“Come sit,” Steve says once Max is feeding steadily. Tony gives him a distracted look and Steve _knows_ he’s going to say something about Max liking movement better.

“Come sit, Tony,” he repeats, and pats his knee instead of the couch and sets his coffee aside.

Tony still looks conflicted, but once he’s settled on Steve’s lap he sighs and leans against him, his back and neck loosening. Steve wraps his arms around them both, taking some of Max’s weight, and Tony relaxes further.

“You’re warm,” he says, soft-voiced. 

“That’s me,” Steve concedes. He rests his cheek against Tony’s ear and stares down at Max, who looks back with wide green eyes as he busily works the bottle. “Personal heating blanket. I also make coffee.”

Tony huffs a laugh. “Best invention ever.”

Steve tightens his hug a little and does his best to memorize this moment. The feel of it. The details of light and shadow on Max’s face and Tony’s hands. The gentle, clean smell of fresh linens and warm formula and the softness of Max’s blanket under his hands.

Tony sighs.

“I need to read over some contracts today. And there’s an email from the Foundation I still haven’t answered. But I think my brain is made of cotton candy at this point.”

Steve moves one hand up to rub through Tony’s hair and massage at his scalp.

“Let me take him,” he says. “Just for the next hour or so.”

Tony leans into his hand.

“You make a compelling argument. But I can’t sleep any more right now.”

“You don’t have to, just take a break.” Steve lets his hand glide down over Tony’s forehead to press gently at his temples. “Drink some coffee, watch the sunrise.”

“Mmmm.” Tony shifts slightly. “I think . . .”

Max chooses that moment to push away the bottle, his little face screwing up into something that’s part sneeze, part cough. Tony flisnches slightly. Max starts crying again in low, miserable sobs.

“Yeah, okay,” Tony sighs. “Take him.” He stands and hands Max over. “I’ll be right back.”

Max reaches after him, wailing louder, and Steve stands and snags a burping cloth. He cradles Max against his shoulder and pats his back as gently as he can.

“Your dad has to go take care of some things,” he says, watching Tony hesitate. “He’ll be back soon.”

Tony slips out of the room with reluctance in every line of his body. Steve bounces Max a little and starts to pace. It’s true that Max prefers to be in motion, whether he’s held or in a baby rocker, so Steve walks until Max burps, and then he cleans Max’s nose and wipes his face and rocks him, doing his best to keep up the same steady murmur of comforting noise Tony does when he’s trying to get Max to sleep. It’s actually a low-voiced review of important points for Steve’s upcoming meeting and observations on changes to the New York skyline, but he knows for a fact that Tony’s read the kid stress-test reports for new kinds of soy-based plastics. Tone, not content, is what’s important right now.

Tony comes back just as Max is settling into a doze. He’s washed his face and trimmed his beard and combed his hair and even put on actual day clothes. The T-shirt and jeans are still more of a lab day or frazzled parent look than anything else but it’s good to see. Just last week Steve had come home to find him lying on the floor still in his PJs, watching Max babble at a solar system mobile while Tchaikovsky played over the loudspeakers.

“How’s he doing?” Tony steps close and moves his hands like he’s going to take Max back now. Steve gives him an amused look.

“We’re fine.” He pulls away slightly. “Go drink your coffee.”

Tony picks up the thermos and takes a drink. “Are you nannying us both now?”

“If I have to.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but he choose an over-stuffed chair facing the windows and sits down, and he doesn’t make another attempt to take over the child care. After about fifteen minutes, when Max has slipped into a light snore, Steve catches a glimpse of Tony’s phone pointed in his direction.

“Are you taking pictures?”

“Are you going to begrudge me a record of Captain America as a father? This is a desk-photo-worthy moment. People will ask ‘So how are you two adjusting?’ and I can say, ‘Look at this photo, have you ever seen something more precious?’”

Steve arches an eyebrow at him.

“So does that mean you don’t mind if I put up photos on _my_ desk?”

Tony snickers. “Because that’s not going to be awkward for the agents at all, giving reports in front of a picture of their former director with a baby.”

“They’ll get over it.” Steve rocks Max gently. “They got over the wedding picture.” Which isn’t _completely_ true. Some of the younger agents still give a little blink of surprise every time it catches their eye, and some of the older agents ignore it fiercely enough to be noticeable. But it serves a purpose. Sometimes he needs to remind them he has other places to be.

Tony frowns. “Why have I never seen this?”

“Because you make a point of not being in that office?”

“Hmm.”

In the silence after, they both turn to the windows. The sun is breaking over the skyline. Steve’s internal clock is starting to sound alarms. He sighs.

“I should go get ready. Do you want him or should I put him back to bed?”

“We’ll stay out here.” Tony holds out his hands. “Might as well at this point.”

Steve hugs Max closer for another moment, then nestles him into Tony’s arms.

“Anything you need while I’m at it?” he asks, brushing back the little dark tuft of Max’s hair.

“More coffee?” Tony nods at the thermos. “Maybe a tablet?”

“Can do.” Steve snags the thermos and steals a kiss that’s not nearly long enough. As soon as Max is well they’re hiring a sitter and he’s taking Tony out to dinner. It’s been _weeks_ since they had a good stretch of time alone together.

“Want me to close the blinds?”

Tony nods his head from side to side. “Halfway down,” he decides. “He seems to do okay with diffused light.”

Steve nods. He lowers the blinds and starts the coffeemaker on a fresh pot before retreating to the bedroom to freshen up—the hot washcloth on his face feels heavenly—and to pull on his uniform.

It’s getting harder to wear it every day, the reasoning he laid out before the adoption went through wearing thinner and thinner as time goes on. The work he does is important, yes, but he _could_ delegate more. He’s still not ready to just retire, but he could follow Tony’s example. Remote in a few days a week and show up in person once or twice a month, at least while Max is still so small. He could even take a few more weeks of leave.

It’s been years since he’d done anything _but_ work with SHIELD and the Avengers. He’s not sure what he would do with himself if he gave up even half of those responsibilities. But maybe it’s time to find out. Maybe Max can be a catalyst for more than one kind of opportunity.

He adjusts his belt and double-checks that everything is sitting comfortably. The shield slips into place over his back. That, at least, still feel right. 

Food. He needs food, or he’ll end up snapping at someone halfway through the meeting and Hill will try to quietly manage him out of the room so the rest of them can get on with work. He grabs a few protein bars from the kitchen and a whey-and-fruit smoothie from the fridge. They’ve been cooking less and less the last few days too, and he makes a mental note to change that, or to at least order some decent prepared meals they can just heat up. Max might be able to live on reconstituted powder, but that’s no reason Steve and Tony can’t enjoy some real food once in a while. Tony probably already has that under control, but it won’t hurt to have extras. 

He grabs a tablet and punches in an order for that and a few other groceries—are they low on diapers? What about wet wipes?--and then he fills Tony’s thermos with steaming fresh coffee and carries it and the tablet back into the living room. 

Tony is curled up in his chair and humming softly, Max cradled in the crook of his elbow. His bare feet are limned faintly with dawnlight; his phone sits abandoned on the floor.

He looks utterly content. Steve almost hates to interrupt him. He takes out his own phone and takes a picture. Maybe not desk material—he’s certain Tony doesn’t want any SHIELD agents seeing him quite like this—but it’s a good reminder to have. A good incentive, when he’s staring down a pile of paperwork and the clock clicks past 4:30, to just come home and _be_ here.

Tony looks up.

“Heading out?”

“Yeah.”

Steve sets the thermos and tablet next to Tony’s phone and bends to kiss Max’s forehead. Max shifts in his sleep. His face scrunches slightly, then smoothes out again. 

“Think he’s doing any better?”

“Hard to say. Might just be the ibuprofen finally kicking in.” Tony tilts his head, inviting his own kiss, and Steve obliges him with a little more heat than the occasion calls for. When he pulls back Tony reaches out with his free hand to hold him place for another kiss, and another, wet and open-mouthed.

“Mmn. More of this,” Tony says, finally loosening his hold. “Once he’s sleeping through the night again, we are doing way more of this.”

Steve chuckles. “I was thinking get a sitter, go on an actual date.”

“That’s good too,” Tony agrees. “I vote both.” He traces his hand down Steve’s jaw. “No saving the world today, right? Just meetings and paperwork?”

“Just meetings and paperwork,” Steve promises. He kisses Max’s forehead again, and then Tony’s too, for good measure. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“We’ll be here.” Tony smiles. Steve sighs and stands straight.

“Call me if you need anything,” he says. Tony looks amused.

“Will do. Have a good day, beloved.”

Steve has to smile himself at that. “You too.”

It’s as he closes the garage door behind him, wind in his face and motorcycle rumbling underneath him, that he realizes he’s already counting the minutes until he can go back there, to soft moments and quiet joys. 

New point on the agenda, he decides. He’s taking a week of leave. He’ll figure out the rest of it after.


End file.
